Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zeb could not claim to be thoroughly familiar with all the peculiarities of the human race.

He knew what was universally known.
For example, he knew that, compared to species such as the wookies or his own, humans had little body hair; he knew that there were some whose hair grew on their faces and others whose hair grew on their chest. And he knew that, apparently, they did not sprout at the same age and in the same way.

Kanan, for example, had spent years shaving every single morning, and even now that he had decided to let his beard grow he was forced to adjust it every other day to keep it looking as neat as possible. Ezra, for his part, used to ran a hand over his chin every morning to find that everything was exactly smooth and hairless as usual.

He also knew that human skin tones could vary: brown, black, white, coppery... and all their shades.

There was far too much choice. For Lasats it was easier – purple, gray or brown – and usually, not to brag, but those like him with purple skin, prominent stripes of the same color and green eyes were considered more attractive than others.

And then... what else?

They were, though extremely resilient, more delicate than previously thought.
He had once seen Kanan's hands swell and become covered with a strange rash just because he had touched a plant. However, when Sabine had also inadvertently brushed its leaves, absolutely nothing had happened to her. He still didn't quite understand that whole thing. Allergies, allergens, susceptible individuals, reactions... Lasats had none of these problems.

That is why, when he had seen Kallus that morning, he had been worried.
His first thought had been that it was one of those allergic reactions. However, he had found no swelling, and Kallus himself had seemed perfectly well as he helped load food and medical supplies onto a ship that would leave the next day to rush to the rescue of a Middle Rim planet.
He had noticed that on several occasions he had rubbed a hand over his face but, Zeb had reasoned, he was probably just wiping off his sweat: after all, Yavin 4, with its pluvial forests, was a planet with a tropical weather.

«Are you feeling all right?», he had asked him at lunch.

«Yes, of course».

«Are... you sure?»

The man had nodded, barely wrinkling his forehead but then, called away by Hera, he had walked away to check with her the ship's shielding and the imperial codes to be used to go undetected.

Sabine had approached Zeb: «Are you feeling all right?»

«Me?! But have you seen him?»

«Why? What's wrong with him?», Ezra had asked with his mouth full.

Zeb never quite understood whether or not those two were making fun of him when it came to Kallus.

He knew that the friendship he had established with him was... at least a strange one, after all those years of challenging and obsessively trying to kill each other. It was not just a matter of factions: Kallus was not the first Imperial who had defected and joined the rebellion. Of course, not all of the former Imperials who had swelled their ranks had been captains or had worked for the internal affairs and investigations branch of the Imperial Intelligence Service. In short, Agent Kallus was not a rookie who had just entered the Academy and immediately decided to retrace his steps. He was a well-trained spy who had been promoted with flying colors and had proudly climbed the ranks, one promotion after another.
Not to mention the massacre of Lasan...

Moreover, Zeb was not great with words: how he had managed with just a few words delivered in a night spent in the wild to make him question the ideals in which he had always firmly believed still remained a mystery to him.

Sabine and Ezra's subtle teasing was well-founded: how was it that in all the Galaxy, he, of all people, attracted his attention? Was it the will of the Force, as Kanan would have suggested?

And, speaking of that, was it at the will of the Force that Zeb was the only one to notice those spots on his face that came out of nowhere?

«It looks like that time when you got all those red dots on your face, on your neck-all over your body! What disease was that? We had to make you walk around the Phantom wearing a space suit and a helmet for two weeks because all you did was scratch yourself! You were really ridiculous!»

«It doesn't look anything like that! And thank you, by the way!», Ezra had exclaimed.

«So you do see them too!»

«Well, yeah! It's not like I'm blind».

«And does it look normal to you?!»

«As a matter of fact-»

«Maybe it's better for Kallus not to participate in tomorrow's mission if he's sick», Sabine had suddenly stepped in.

Zeb had agreed immediately: finally someone who understood the gravity of the situation!
Leaving to look for the person concerned, however, he did not catch the smirk and knowing nudge that Ezra and Sabine exchanged.

*

The landing pad was crowded: many had volunteered to help to speed up storage operations.
Zeb spotted Hera and, when he asked her where Kallus was, busy as she was she merely pointed him out with a casual nod.
He was sitting in the shadows, his back leaning against the wall of the cargo ship, a datapad in one hand while with the other, once again, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

«It's hot as bloody hell!», the human said when Zeb sat down next to him.

«It's either too cold or too hot: you're always complaining!»

Kallus shot him a dirty look. «A frozen moon; a pluvial planet: is there no middle ground?», he protested again, trying to plead his case by recalling the night they had spent stranded on Bahryn. «Couldn't we have stationed ourselves on Naboo?», he concluded, focusing back on the datapad.

«What are you doing?»

«Checking the cargo manifest», he replied, pointing to the ship behind him.

«I thought you were on a break».

«Yes, well, it's better to check one more time than one time less».

«You shouldn't make too much effort».

«I'm not trying hard to please others. I know it will take time for them to like me... or that it may never happen. I don't aspire to anything, here».

«No, I was actually thinking about tomorrow's mission: maybe it's best if you sit this one out. Just this once ... I think you should stay here».

Kallus tried to play it off by clutching the datapad in his hands but still hesitated a few seconds too long before nodding.

Zeb bit his tongue realizing that he had probably phrased the sentence the wrong way.

«Wait, Kal... I just meant that-».

«You don't need to apologize or explain yourself, Garazeb: I get it».

Zeb huffed: he felt guilty because he knew he could not impose anything on his allies but at the same time he recognized in Kallus's commitment a genuine honesty that, from day to day, no one ever gave him credit for.
It had been months since he had joined the Rebellion, but even now there were still many rebels who gave him evil looks or who preferred to check over and over again the work he had done.
But Zeb had seen past his bravado: he had known a vulnerable side of him and learned to understand when his always serious and hard look masked either uncertainty or blame for his own gullibility and for all the orders he executed without question.

Why did no one, excluding the Spectres, see that former Special Agent Kallus was really striving to be a better man? To be just Alexsandr again?

Determined to clear the air and erase that brief veil of disappointment he had read on the man's face, he squeezed his shoulder and rephrased: «Listen, I know you want to participate but what would happen if you suddenly felt sick?»

The man finally looked up from the datapad: «Why would I feel sick?»

Zeb shook a few blond locks off his forehead and pressed his hand into it: «Actually, it doesn't look like you have a fever, but in these cases it's better to be careful: what if you get too tired and it gets worse?»

Kallus silently asked for explanations with an ever more frowning look on his face - which, however, could not completely hide his suddenly flushed ears.

«I mean ... it's not that you look bad». Actually, if Zeb really had to be honest, those little brown spots gave his face something eye-catching, quite endearing. «And I know you're a hard worker and you probably don't even know what the word 'break' means, but if you don't give yourself a chance to heal, those spots will not go away».

After a few moments of silence, a sound more unique than rare made Zeb's ears perk up. That time on Bahryn had been only a faint snicker: never before had he heard Kal laugh for real.

«Wh-why don't you go to the infirmary?»

«For these?», Alex brushed his nose with a finger.

«Maybe they can give you some antihistamines or-»

«No need, I'm not sick».

«But-».

«These are called freckles».

*

Zeb had said this so many times: over the years he had rumbled off several death threats, usually aimed at Ezra or Chopper. Rarely had he also included Sabine.
However, when he returned to the Phantom he was greeted by just the Mandalorian's sibylline smile: «So? How is he doing?»

«You knew about these so called 'freckles'!»

«On Mandalore we call them 'tranyc mureycases'».

Zeb did not hold back a frown.

«What? We may be a warlike people but once in a while we can be romantic!»

«Ah yes: that does sound romantic!», Ezra butted in with sarcasm.

«'Sun kisses': there is no more fitting name. Did Kallus explain to you how they work?»

Sure: exposure to the sun contributes to their formation and darkening.

“Are you mocking me, Kal? I've never seen them on Sabine or Kanan and Ezra!”

“Not everyone has them: people with pale complexions are more likely to get them”.

«You made me look like an idiot!»

“Do they hurt?”

Mild denial.

“Don't they even itch? Because when Ezra got sick-”

“No, Zeb: they don't cause any discomfort”.

“But then they're just... nice?”

«In my opinion, it was sweet of you to worry about him», Hera comforted him instead, resting a hand on his shoulder and casting a scolding glance at the younger members of the team. «And I'm sure he felt the same way».

Zeb growled through gritted teeth but did not contradict her: scratching behind his ears awkwardly, he had gotten up to leave but Alex had called him back and indeed thanked him.

Then he had failed to hold his tongue: “How many are they?”

“I don't know...after so many years in space I couldn't even remember having them anymore”.

He had smiled at him, and Zeb's ears had instinctively twitched a second time before he could control them. He had hoped that Kallus, thorough as he could be, had never looked into his culture and the meaning of those impulsive movements. The very thought of it had made his ears snap to the side in a grip of anxiety.

But then Alex had spoken again: “When we get back from tomorrow's mission, they may be a little faded but, if you want...you can try and count them”.

It was probably his imagination speaking but had he perhaps read a hint of hopefulness on his face?

If you want?
Zeb was now craving for it.
To brush, this time gently, those cheeks that more than once in the past he had punched instead.
To find out if, when touched, the freckles would feel as soft as they looked or as rough as his long sideburns.

«Just so you know», Sabine interrupted that stream of thought mischievously. «freckles don't just appear on the face».